Immunity
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: To hypos, that is. When Dr. McCoy walks out on his own murder, Kirk and Spock learn just how durable their doctor really is. Set after 'Requiem for Methuselah'. Warning for some graphic medical jazz, and a bit of blood. Oh well, let's just clean it up and then kick some bad guy butt.
1. The Crime

**A/N: Glory, I don't know. My sadistic side wanted a turn but I was really wanting a hero!fic and the result was this. It's only going to be about two chapters, something quick, but gripping. Parts may be a little bloody (at least in this chapter) so if you're squeamish about that sort of thing you have been warned. This isn't exactly a Hurt/Comfort fic, more like a Bad-Guys-Tried-but-Failed/Let's-Go-Kick-their-Sweet-Patooties fic. **

**Set after 'Requiem for Methuselah' though that's not really relevant to the story.**

**'Two Survivors' is still a go for those of you following it, just enjoy this little piece in the meantime. I don't own Star Trek (yet!) ;)**

* * *

"Bridge to Sickbay."

"Sickbay. Chapel here."

"What's the situation concerning inoculation?" Kirk asked.

"Crewmen are reporting as soon as they're able. The forty-five or so who were already confined due to the prolonged illness are responding favorably to the treatment. Has everyone on the bridge been vaccinated?"

Kirk surveyed the bridge and received all nods. "Affirmative. What's the status of the medical department?"

Chapel read through to the underlying question. "Tired, but still trooping. If you want you can stop by and see for yourself; the flow's lessened since the shift change ended."

"Will do, Kirk out." The captain rose from his command seat. "Mr. Spock, you have the conn. I'm going to pay a visit to Sickbay."

Without another word the two men went to their positions- one to the 'big chair' and the other to the turbolift.

"Deck 5." As the lift started up Kirk began bracing himself for Sickbay.

The Rigellian Fever had been hard on the _Enterprise_. The medical staff had been working double-time to quarantine the infected and distribute Ritalin to the rest of the ship. For a while it had been touch-and-go. Now, it was a matter of seeing every member of the 430 people aboard, evaluating them for the fever, and administering the vaccine or cure appropriately. Several emergencies had cropped up involving carriers. It had been a long, hard battle, and Kirk knew of one weary doctor who had been pulling more than his own weight.

He stepped out of the lift and walked into Sickbay. A few crewmembers stood in a line receiving inoculation. Chapel looked up and nodded towards the back room. Kirk got the message and walked to where the most-affected crewmen were.

He spotted McCoy talking with Chekov. The young navigator was recovering nicely. Kirk hovered near the door, not wanting to butt in on their conversation.

"Hello, Jim."

Quietly cursing to himself about McCoy's uncanny intuition, Kirk put on a broad smile and walked further into the room. McCoy's sharp gaze halted him.

"What?"

"You've received your vaccine, right?" McCoy checked.

"Yeah, M'Benga gave it to me."

"Then sure, come on in." Kirk walked closer and smiled down at Chekov. He frowned when he heard a scanner run over him.

"Just making sure everything's working as it should be," McCoy defended. He put the scanner away.

"How is ewerything on zhe bridge?" Chekov asked.

"Just fine, Mr. Chekov. How is everything with you?"

"Dr. McCoy says zhat I am recovering nicely," he mentioned.

"It's taking him a little longer than the others to get back on track, but he was one of the first affected," McCoy added. Kirk noticed that the bags under his eyes seemed heavier and their vibrant blue color was dulled and bloodshot. "If you two want to chat, I'm going to help Chris with those inoculations-"

"Actually, Bones," Kirk said. "I came to talk with you. Do you have the time?"

"I've got to finish with the in-"

"_Bones_, I saw maybe at most five people out there and Nurse Chapel had it under control. Now, I know she has been working hard like everyone else, but at least she has the common sense of when to take a break. I'd say you're about due for that break, Doctor."

McCoy stared at him. He looked ready to argue when Chekov piped up. "Ve're all fine in here. If Brady ower there gets into trouble I'll be sure to let you know while you're getting a sandvich."

McCoy tossed up his hands. "Fine. My patients say they don't need me, my captain wants me to stop doctoring- okay. I'll eat a sandwich."

"And take a nap later," Kirk said as they exited the room.

"In the middle of Beta shift?" McCoy said incredulously. "That would be like deserting my post."

"Bones, you've pulled back-to-back shifts for I don't know how often in the past week," Kirk whirled. "You can barely stand up. Now, after we eat, you are taking a break to _sleep_. You can either do it in your quarters, or sedated in Sickbay."

McCoy grumbled quietly to himself but Kirk took it as a good sign that he wasn't outright refusing. They reached the mess hall and ate in silence. Kirk watched his friend slowly chew his meal, focused elsewhere.

"We reach Gruthar in a few days," Kirk said. "You should take a vacation."

The doctor grunted. "I might if everyone's healed up."

"Correction: you _will_." Kirk didn't like pulling his rank card, but his friend looked like he needed it.

"You're ordering me to take a vacation?" McCoy deduced.

"Three days," Kirk said. "Starting when we reach Gruthar. Then I want you to go down, rest up, and enjoy yourself."

McCoy sighed. "Right."

* * *

It was two days later that McCoy found himself standing in a sunny square of a bustling city. He sighed. The Rigellian Fever had finally cleared up completely, but he still wished he could've been there and not in his cabin when the report went out. He was fine, two days had allowed him to catch up on his sleep and he was eating regularly again, but Kirk still insisted that he take this damn vacation.

He straightened his medical tunic. Well, shore leave or not, he felt good sticking it to Kirk that he was beaming down in his Starfleet Uniform. It wasn't even out of the ordinary; they took shore leave all the time in uniform.

_Well, since you're here for the next three days, might as well see what this place has got, _he thought. Strolling through the streets, he passed numerous shops and diners, vendors and stores. Tantalizing aromas wafted out of some bakeries, and he bought a delicious éclair that just melted in his mouth.

Savoring the sunshine and the walk, his mood perked up and he wandered further, exploring. He stopped before a quaint-looking store and realized it was a bar. _Might as well sample some_, he thought lightly, strolling inside.

It had a cozy atmosphere and there weren't very many people inside. There were a couple of hunched-over patrons and three kids that barely looked old enough to drink in a corner. McCoy found that he liked the décor. It was ornate, yet not intricate, giving it a finished, modern look. He sat on a stool and admired the designs.

The bartender came by. "What can I get ya?"

"One brandy, please," McCoy said. He made it a point not to drink _too_ much on shore leave just in case he was called back up for a medical emergency.

"Just one? With refills?"

"No thank you," McCoy said. He smiled. "I can't afford to get too drunk."

The bartender chuckled. "Well, I'll see what we have." He retreated into the back room. McCoy relaxed against the counter and noticed that there was soft music playing. He grinned pleasantly. He could really like this place.

One of the kids (well, technically young adult) breezed by him on his way to the back room. It occurred to McCoy that they might work here. He shrugged. No matter. As long as they didn't over-indulge in the booze.

The bartender returned. "Pardon me, but I missed it earlier; are you Starfleet?"

"Yes," McCoy answered.

The man smiled. "Well, welcome to Gruthar! The reason I asked is because we have a discount here for Starfleet personnel. I noticed the uniform, but it didn't really register with me until I was back there makin' your drink."

"That's alright, and thanks," McCoy said lightly. He was _really_ liking this place.

The bartender stepped out and reappeared carrying a glass of Saurian brandy. "Here you go, on the house."

McCoy's eyes widened. "Some discount."

"Well, we appreciate your service," the bartender said. "It's the least we can do."

"Thank you," he replied, touched.

They engaged in a long conversation following that. It wasn't like anyone else was coming in. Some of the other patrons left, including the kids in the corner. Soon it was just the two of them and a man reading a newspaper (though he appeared to be asleep). McCoy looked down into his empty glass. He swirled the ice, savoring the sound.

"Well," he said when the conversation started to dwindle. "It's been lovely speaking with you, but I'd best be on way."

The bartender looked surprised. "Really?"

McCoy laughed. "Well, I may be on three-day mandatory leave, but I've never been to Gruthar before and I'd like to keep looking around." He stood up. "Thank you for the drink, though. It was delicious."

"Of course…" the bartender trailed. He sat and watched the doctor walk out of the bar humming quietly to himself.

_Maybe Jim was right_, McCoy thought as he walked back out on the street. _Maybe you did need shore leave._

He walked at a sedated pace. The afternoon felt notably hotter than earlier in the day. He wasn't sweating, though he was a tad thirsty.

_Maybe there's a water stand nearby_, he thought. He rounded a corner and the sidewalk warped. He stopped and swayed, feeling a bit dizzy. _Is it really that hot? I can't be dehydrated, I just had a brandy…_

He was interrupted from his musings by a shout. He turned and staggered, feeling dizzy again.

"Hey, Starfleet!"

It was the three kids from the bar, only with two friends. McCoy blinked at them, squinting. His vision was slightly blurry. "What?"

He registered two things at once. One, that the narrow street he was on was completely deserted, and two, that the kids were actually closer than he realized.

The first blow told him that.

The street tilted and he was flat on his back before he even saw the fist coming. All he was suddenly aware of was that his heart was beating painfully fast. There was another blow to his head and he tried to deflect it but blast it, he could barely _see_. He suddenly felt two pairs of hands grip him under the arms and drag him someplace. He knew it was somewhere shadowed because the light suddenly vanished. McCoy twisted, gasping as his heart beat even faster.

They dumped him unceremoniously on the ground and he fought to hold down the contents of his stomach as his world swayed. He was very disoriented. He struggled to rise.

"Oh, _now_ it's working."

"Should we leave him, Cutler?"

"Nah, we already started it, might as well finish it."

_Finish what?_ McCoy barely thought. A blow landed on his ribs as they set upon him. He felt his communicator leave his side.

It was five against one and McCoy could barely process what was happening. He was aware of the sharp blows that landed everywhere on his body and the rapid _thud, thud, thud_ of his speed-racing heart. He thrashed uselessly, trying to dislodge himself, and got hit in the head again.

_Screw it,_ a detached part of his mind said. He couldn't win this. So he opened his mouth and yelled as loud as he could.

"What the hell!?"

"Shut up!"

Someone punched him in the throat and he choked, coughing violently. Then someone was hitting him violently over and over again on his right shoulder. Unable to scream through his raw throat, he groaned as something gave.

It was a small blessing that the weight left him. The blows stopped and it seemed that most of the youths had backed off. Except for one. The main one. He was still sitting there, and he was talking, but McCoy couldn't hear what he was saying. There was just his mad heart pounding away in his ears.

"…alright."

McCoy suddenly jerked and gasped when a cold blade was rammed into his abdomen, just underneath his ribs. Automatically his limbs lifted up to push away from the attack, but some hands gripped his legs down. "George, get his arms out of the way." There was a slice across his stomach and he cried out, flexing again. "I said, get his arms!" "I'm trying, they're all over the place!" "Pin them over his head, then!" McCoy's shoulder groaned in protest, but then the knife was back in his stomach and he couldn't think, there were just sensations of his gut being laid open and something cold and sharp against his right wrist and he was dizzy and sick and his heart was screaming from exertion…

It was a blessing to lose consciousness.

* * *

Kirk's shift on the bridge ended and he left with a tired sigh. There had been a dispute over transporter usage between them and the government of Gruthar when the operator planet-side left after his shift and was replaced with an operator who didn't believe it was legal to beam people down elsewhere than their platform. The disagreement had been resolved (after an agonizingly lengthy amount of time) and crewmen resumed transporting to the planet's surface. Kirk rubbed his head, staving off a slight ache. The dispute, or rather misunderstanding, had been more frustrating than interesting. He didn't mind a good interruption when they were simply in orbit around a planet, provided that the interruption didn't tax his patience or the definition of stupidity.

So he left Spock with the conn and went to lie down in his quarters. Idly he thought of Bones, and wondered what he was up to. There were several other crewmembers planet-side, so the doctor needn't be lonely. They'd never been to Gruthar before, so he didn't know what the natives were like.

_Maybe I'll ask Mr. Spock,_ he thought lazily as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Blue.

He was looking at blue.

For a while, now.

It just now registered.

He moved his head to the right and the blue vanished. He frowned. Where did it go? He looked straight ahead again and it returned. _There it is_, he thought. He watched it for a while, then looked around. It vanished. He moved his head forward and was surprised at the resistance he met. Gradually he realized it was because he wasn't looking forward, but up. He was on his back. The blue was above him.

Slowly, he sat up. The world was slow in catching up with his movement. It was like reality lagged behind him. He sat there uncomprehending it all.

Bracing against the ground, he stood. There was a distant tickle, and he looked down. He was very wet. Why was he wet? He touched a hand to the liquid that soaked through his shirt halfway down and dripped onto his boots. He held his hand up and examined the wetness. Try as he might, he couldn't identify it, couldn't think about it. It was unfamiliar. He didn't even know what color it was, except that it wasn't blue.

He started walking, and as he moved he felt literally beside himself. Like he was numb all over and not quite aware of what he was doing. He would move an arm, and an arm would move, but he would watch it move.

Aimlessly, he wandered away from his blue spot. At times the body he commanded would move, but occasionally it wouldn't. He'd just stand there and wait for it to move again. While he was waiting he would watch reality slide around like soap on ice. Blurred lines would drag across his vision, and then shapes would snap into startling focus. Then they would unfreeze back into blurred motion.

He didn't know what was happening, or where he was going. He couldn't think about it. Instead, he simply followed a step beside his body and looked down at the curious wetness he left behind.

There was eventually noise. What did it mean? He found himself nearing the noise, and then inside of it. Shapes were very fast. Faint smells, but a lot of noise. He wandered further, sucked in by the noise of a distant chaos. He tried to look. Freeze-flash. A plate. The blurred shapes of speed. Freeze-flash. A flowerpot. What was a flowerpot doing here? More blurriness, now he was dizzy and jostled and he whined in distress. Freeze-flash. A face, eyes widening. He knew that face. It was a bad face. Blurred. Freeze-flash. It was leaving. Good.

He looked up and saw the blue again. It made him feel better. His eyes tracked down. Freeze-flash. Another face, also alarmed. This one better. He was looking down, and watched as the ground slowly floated up to him.

Pressure around him. Turning. There was the blue again, coupled with some blue eyes. He smiled slightly. Blue was so pretty and nice. And safe. He closed his eyes.

Chapel gripped McCoy harder. "Leonard, stay with me! _Enterprise_, repeat, _Enterprise_, please come in!"

* * *

Kirk jolted awake suddenly, thinking _something's wrong._ His red alert was going off, but there weren't any alarms ringing. A quick check with Engineering told him that everything was alright with the ship. He sat back down on the bed, trying to figure it out.

The comm whistled. "Kirk here," he said.

"Nurse Chapel," she said through the other end. "Dr. McCoy is in surgery."

Kirk frowned. "I thought I told him to take the day off."

There was a pause. "Captain, he's not operating," she said quietly. "He's a patient."

The words slammed into Kirk. _Bones is in surgery. I sent him to the planet and now he's in surgery._

He was sprinting down the hall before the link closed.

* * *

Spock met him in Sickbay. He'd been on the bridge when the call came in and promptly turned the conn over to Sulu.

"Do you know anything?" Kirk asked, breathless as he rushed in.

"Negative. Only that an urgent medical beam-out was called in by Nurse Chapel and that it involved Dr. McCoy."

"He's," Kirk swallowed. "He's being operated on. I know that much. I started running here and didn't catch anymore."

They looked back at the door leading into the operating room. Kirk moved towards it, but was braced by Spock. "Captain, are we allowed in there?"

"We have been before," he said. _Bones let us in before… as long as we kept our distance._

The first thing that hit Kirk was the smell of blood. It stopped him in his tracks. They'd often come back injured from various adventures before, but blood had never smelled strong enough to fill a room. He felt Spock freeze behind him and looked to where a flurry of activity was centered around a biobed. He couldn't see Bones, but a medical alarm was ringing incessantly on the panel above. His stomach clinched as he heard the medical staff urgently shout orders and the occasionally expletive.

"I need physostigmine NOW!" M'Benga boomed over the operating noise.

A nurse ran past them for the medical cabinets. She returned almost immediately carrying numerous quantities of the drug. Kirk watched in anticipation as various equipment were set up and as M'Benga bent over and continued operating… Kirk couldn't see what he was doing. Chapel entered carrying bags of blood to load into a machine which added to the smell.

"Jim."

Kirk felt a light touch at his elbow and it led him away from the operating room. The doors closed behind them, abruptly drenching them in silence. Spock kept his light hold on him until he felt the tension- that he hadn't known was there- leave.

"Spock," he stilted.

"You seemed distressed," Spock said. "And since we can do nothing in there it seemed illogical to remain and cause more worry than needed."

Kirk nodded, breathing deeply. They waited in Sickbay for a while, not speaking. At times it looked like Spock meditated. Kirk could only worry.

At last, nurses and orderlies started filing out of the operating room. They still waited for an all-clear sign to enter. Chapel came out and she looked tired. They rose and met her.

"Nurse?"

"He's stable," Chapel reported. "Finally," she muttered.

"Can we see him?"

"You can, but he's unconscious," she said. "All that took a toll on him."

Kirk braced himself for his next question. "What happened?"

"You'll have to ask Leonard that," she said quietly.

Spock picked up when Kirk didn't answer. "What was wrong with the doctor?" he asked.

"Do you want the long version or the short version?"

They looked at each other. "The long version," Kirk tried.

"Dr. McCoy was bleeding internally and externally from four major piercings located across the abdomen and lower rib cage, he had several contusions all over his face, throat, torso and legs, a fracture in his collarbone was aggravated from stress in the right shoulder, and he was suffering heavily from anticholinergic toxidrome due to an overdose of atropine in his system which caused dilation, confusion, dryness, terrible tachycardia, and mild delirium."

Kirk looked at her, trying to follow. "What's the short version?"

Chapel sighed. "The short version is that he was poisoned, beaten, and stabbed. In that order."

For several moments, Kirk could only gape. His brain and mouth started working again. "Is he _okay?_"

It was a very stupid question, as obviously the doctor was not fine but unconscious, but Kirk meant it towards the future, a 'will he be okay?'.

"We're hopeful," Chapel said. She bit her lip. "He lost a lot of blood. Stomach wounds bleed like crazy and he had four different stab wounds. And he had so much atropine in him that I'm not even sure how he was still _walking_.

"Walking? Bones was walking?"

Chapel nodded, and shivered at the memory she recounted to them. She'd finally found time for shore leave and was sitting in a lovely little outdoor café when a disturbance attracted her attention. Someone pushed by her in a hurry, looking like he'd seen a ghost. And maybe he had. She pivoted in her seat to see what the commotion was and saw Leonard stumbling straight through the dining area. What made her insides freeze was the blood drenching him like a waterfall. He looked extremely unfocused and unsteady, and nearly tipped over when a wide-eyed waiter jostled him. The next thing she knew was that she was rushing to slow his fall as he slumped forward in slow motion, turning him over and seeing his eyes open, but dilated almost black. She called the _Enterprise_.

"I don't know where he came from," she finished. "Or who did this to him."

"It's something we'll have to find out," Kirk figured.

M'Benga exited the operating room. He stopped in front of the trio. "He's resting," he reported. "You can see him now, if you want, but he probably won't be conscious for another couple of hours."

"In that time we can find out who did this to Bones. Spock," Kirk turned to him. "Do you have any pressing matters to attend to other than accompanying me to the transporter to investigate McCoy's attempted murder?"

"None, Captain," Spock replied. "The coordinates of the Nurse Chapel's diner are still within the transporter's memory. It is logical to begin there."

"Agreed, Mr. Spock," Kirk said. They thanked Chapel and M'Benga and exited Sickbay, determined to find the attackers of their friend.

* * *

The outdoor café they'd materialized in was still abuzz from the disturbance. The local police was talking with several eyewitnesses, but having already heard the story from Chapel, Kirk and Spock kept away from the proceedings. Instead, they surveyed the diner, trying to replicate the situation.

"Do we know which direction he came from?" Kirk asked. "We could trace his footsteps… find out where he went that got him caught up in a situation like this."

Spock had walked a few feet away from Kirk, and turned back around with an odd look on his face. "We can very well do that," he said softly.

Kirk frowned at his tone and walked over to where Spock was standing. He looked down at the pavement. His stomach churned inside of him. Footprints. Shuffling, red footprints. He was reminded again of the bloody smell so prominent in Sickbay.

"Well, Mr. Spock," he said, surprised at his unsteadiness. "Let's see where they lead."

They moved away from the square, following the faint red trail. At times there was barely anything; other times the blood had pooled. With each step Kirk felt himself growing angrier. Once he found the bastards who did this…

The trail meandered, following no set direction. McCoy had apparently wandered the empty parts of the city. Trash blew around from the alleyways, mice skittered by. One building bore a red handprint where he stopped and rested. Kirk turned to face Spock.

"Just how far did he _walk_?"

Spock didn't reply with the exact distance, as he spied something up ahead. "I believe we have reached the point of origin," he said, picking up his pace. They rounded a corner and stopped before an alley.

There was the scene of the crime. If the blood itself didn't give it away other signs of a struggle sure did. Kirk tore away from the ominous spilling and noticed a broken communicator discarded to the side. He picked it up, knowing it was McCoy's.

"So Bones was obviously passing by here when he was attacked," he said, looking around the area. He had to admit it was a fairly good place to stage a murder: quiet streets, nobody to see or hear, nowhere to run. "Any areas nearby that he may have come from before this?"

Spock had out his tricorder. "Mostly dwelling places or abandoned buildings," he reported. "However, about 500 yards in that direction is a small bar. Knowing the doctor and his tastes, it is very possible that he visited it before continuing on his shore leave."

Kirk tried not to think about how he was responsible for this 'shore leave'. "We'll try there first. See if anyone has seen him."

Shortly thereafter, they entered the bar and looked around its quiet settings. It was empty, but they nevertheless approached the counter and waited for someone. A moment later the bartender walked out.

"Hiya, gentlemen. Can I getcha anything?"

"Have you been on shift for the last couple hours?" Kirk asked bluntly.

The bartender blinked in surprise. "Well, yes I have. I work the full day. Why?"

Spock had pulled up a picture of McCoy on the tricorder. "Was this man in here earlier?"

The bartender leaned in closer, stroking his dark beard. "No, no I don't think so. We haven't had many customers so I would remember. Why, is he wanted?"

Spock was about to reply but Kirk cut him off. "Not exactly," he said flatly. "But thank you for your time." Kirk abruptly turned and marched out of the bar, with Spock trailing after him.

"He is lying?" Spock ventured when they were back out on the sunny street.

"Oh yeah," Kirk said. "His eyes lit up with recognition but he still denied it." He turned to his first officer. "I'm sorry for interrupting you there, but if the bartender's in on it then we definitely don't want him to know that it failed and Bones is still alive."

"Logical," Spock assessed.

"We'll have to get him to talk somehow…" Kirk mused. The problem was that they didn't have any evidence to launch an investigation against the bartender. You couldn't interrogate a man based on sheer suspicion…

His communicator beeped. "Kirk here," he said, opening it.

"_Captain,_" Uhura said. "_Sickbay reports that Dr. McCoy is awake and recovering. You may see him now, if you wish._"

Kirk grinned, but there was a grim edge to it. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Beam Mr. Spock and I up." He closed the communicator and looked at Spock. "Let's see what Bones knows," he said as the transporter beam started tingling around them. A moment later they vanished from the street.

* * *

**Atropine is a real substance and in large enough quantities is considered a poison (physostigmine is its antidote). It can cause blurry vision, dilated pupils, dissociative hallucinations, nausea, tachycardia (which is when the heart beats really, really fast; like 100 beats per minute when resting) confusion, dryness, and a variety of other problems that you can find on Wikipedia (that's where I got my information). Yikes. Also, too bloody? I was noticing there near the end that I may have indulged... but they have to trace his steps (if literally).**

**Anyway, if you want to see sweet justice served, then please review! For the sake of tough ol' Bones, lemme know what you think!**


	2. Justice is Sweet Revenge

**A/N: Thank you, everyone, for the reviews! Now is the time for revenge! Star Trek is not mine. Enjoy!**

* * *

Kirk and Spock strode into Sickbay and Nurse Chapel directed them to McCoy's biobed. The doctor looked drowsy, but was up. He watched the three of them as they entered.

"Hey, Bones," Kirk said, approaching him.

"Hi, Jim," he said, his accent a little stronger than usual.

"How do you feel?"

McCoy grimaced. "Like someone hit me with a photon torpedo." He shifted. "What happened?"

Kirk pursed his lips. "You were almost murdered."

"Oh, is that what that was?"

Kirk snorted and squeezed his arm. "Do you remember anything?"

McCoy stared at the ceiling for a while. "Yeah," he said. "I remember some kids had a bone to pick with me… don't know what _about_ as I was just mindin' my own business." He frowned as he thought back. "Somethin' was wrong with me; I couldn't fight back and they had a field day."

"What was wrong was that you had close to 20 milligrams of atropine in you," Chapel broke in. "And then somehow walked away _after_ getting assaulted and stabbed." She sighed as McCoy looked down at himself in mild surprise. "Do you remember anything about that?"

The doctor tilted his head. "I remember… blue. I remember moving… don't know where. I think I saw you, Chris," he said. He closed his eyes. "And…" they popped open. "I saw one of the kids." He frowned. "I don't know where, though…" He looked at Chapel. "How many times was I stabbed?"

"You have four different knife wounds," she reported. "Of those, two are in-and-out stab wounds. The other two were slices, and there was a smaller abrasion on your wrist."

McCoy looked surprised. "I don't remember any pain while moving," he mumbled, reflecting.

"Of course!" Chapel slapped her head.

"What is it?" Kirk asked.

"Did you feel detached?" Chapel questioned McCoy. "Like you were apart from yourself?"

McCoy furrowed his brow. "Something like that."

Chapel grinned. Anticipating Kirk's question, she turned to him. "Atropine in large doses can cause dissociative hallucinations. He didn't feel any pain because he couldn't feel himself!" She was still smiling.

"Why so happy?" McCoy grumbled.

"Because, whoever tried to do you in gave you the key that allowed you to go find help," Kirk said, catching on. He felt relief for the inadvertent blessing.

"Do me in? Murder? With atropine?" McCoy processed the flow of information. "Why?"

"That is what we need to find out," Spock said, stepping into the conversation. "Doctor, did you visit a small bar before the… incident?"

McCoy nodded. "Yeah. Lovely little place. Can't remember the name of it, however."

Kirk leaned forward. "Do you remember what the bartender looked like?"

"Yeah. Big dude, but nice. Dark hair, growing a beard…" he trailed as he noticed Kirk and Spock exchange glances. "What?"

"What all happened while you were there?" Spock asked.

McCoy shrugged. "I got a brandy. Chatted with the bartender. Three of the five kids that later jumped me were sitting in a corner, though. They left a while before I did…" he trailed. "Chris, did you say atropine?"

"Yes, Doctor," she said.

He mulled it over. "It must have been ingested for me to last that long…" his eyes widened. "Of course!"

"What?" Kirk demanded.

"The bartender gave me my drink for free," McCoy said. "Said it was because I was Starfleet."

Kirk clenched his fist. "He must have poisoned it." He swallowed down his anger towards the lying man. "What was his reaction?"

McCoy stared at him. "I don't know, Jim. I drank the brandy, chatted, and then got up and left. I suppose he was surprised."

Kirk couldn't help a small grin. "I'll say. He just watched his victim leave."

"I did thank him for the drink and told him it was delicious," McCoy reflected.

Nerves and the unusual nonchalance concerning the situation finally sent Kirk over the edge and he started laughing. "Bones, I daresay he was dumbfounded!" He could easily picture the bartender staring stupefied at his victim's back as he _left the room_.

"It's nothing to laugh at, Jim!" McCoy replied, indignant. "I was almost killed!" He frowned as he ran the situation through his head. "Twice!"

"I believe that the failure of the atropine is why this group of 'kids' as you call it, attacked you," Spock surmised. "To finish the job."

"That's reassuring," McCoy grumbled.

"Doctor," Chapel said. "You do have a high tolerance for drugs and other medications," she realized. "After surviving a large cordrazine overdose, atropine would be a lot easier to handle." She paused. "Comparatively speaking. And I can only get a sedative to work on you _after_ you're thoroughly exhausted; you can handle large amounts of almost anything."

"Good to know," McCoy said dryly.

Kirk straightened and turned to his first officer. "Well, Spock, we now have evidence against the bartender; shall we go back and file for custody?"

"Indeed, Captain. It will also be interesting to see how he is related to the group of young adults Dr. McCoy has been referring to."

"Well, let's go get him! When do we beam down?" McCoy started to sit up but was pushed back down by three pairs of hands.

"Oh, no," Chapel said. "You are staying right here until you get your strength back and I make sure there are no post-transfusion problems. Blood loss did help get the atropine out of you, but trust me, that's the _only_ good thing it did."

McCoy muttered something about mother hens but acquiesced. "Jim," he called as they turned to leave. "One more thing. I caught two of the names of the kids. Cutler and George. I don't know if one of them was the one I saw later, but he was definitely part of the group."

Chapel frowned. "Someone around the age of 19 pushed by me at the café when you arrived," she said. "I thought distinctly that he looked like he had seen a ghost, but if he was one of the ones responsible…" she swallowed. "He might have."

McCoy patted her hand. "Well, I'm not dead to be ghosting around haunting places," he reassured. "But I'm sure that gave him one heck of a scare."

"It scared all of us."

Kirk nodded to McCoy. "Cutler and George. Thanks, Bones. I expect to see you better when we get back."

"Understood, Captain," McCoy said in the same light humor. As the two left Sickbay, only Chapel glimpsed the mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Ghosts…" McCoy mused.

* * *

"Okay! Okay! Yes! That was my job. But I had no part in the other activities, I swear!"

Kirk leaned forward and braced his hands on the table. The bartender, Ed Baker, sat on the other side in the Gruthar holding cell. The man, despite his gruff appearance, looked thoroughly, utterly cowed and panicked.

"Job." Kirk said, his voice hard and commanding. "So you've done this thing before? For whom? I want names!" He slammed his fist onto the table.

"I, I don't know!" Ed cried.

"What do you mean you don't know?!"

"I mean I'm just a, just a link," he stammered. "If someone tells me to knock off a Starfleet, then I do, but that's as far as my information goes!"

"Who tells you? And why Starfleet?" Kirk leaned closer and Ed shrank away.

"Cutler's group. Mainly. Sometimes it's someone else, but I only know Cutler and his crowd."

"Cutler who?"

Ed grimaced. "Cutler, uh, Garrison. He, he and his posse are more involved with the Black Hole."

"Black Hole? And what is that?" Kirk demanded.

"It's uh, a group. It's a group opposed to Starfleet." Ed swallowed. "They contacted me a while back and asked if I would knock off Starfleet as they saw fit in return for a handsome amount of money." He shifted. "The money was good, and I had use for it, after all, I don't get many patrons so business is tight… I never went out and did mercenary stuff because I found an easier solution with atropine-"

"And how many did you kill?" Kirk looked up and saw Ed blanch. "Yes, kill, Baker, kill! How many?" he shouted.

"Two or three," he said meekly. "Once I saw them fading I didn't stick around… went to the back and stayed there until Cutler's group took care of things." He looked up, his face white. "But I watched the doctor walk out of there without a care in the world, and I swear I didn't have anything to do with what happened in that alley!"

"You already had everything to do with it," Kirk cut off, disgusted. "By poisoning him." His voice quieted. "It just took longer."

Ed's eyes watered. "I didn't-"

"Didn't what?" Kirk snapped. "Didn't mean for anyone to get hurt? Didn't mean to kill anybody? You knew exactly what you were getting into when you agreed to the Black Hole's offer." Kirk held up a hand and stopped Ed's protests. "But never mind that. What about Cutler? What can you tell me about him?"

Ed tried to regain a semblance of composure. "He and his friends- George, Pickney, Travis and uh, Howard- stick together and get into trouble. I know Cutler and George dropped out of school; don't know the others' stories. I've always suspected they joined the Black Hole to be cool vigilantes. They try to be bad boys."

"If what they did to McCoy is any indication, then they're doing a good job of it," Kirk muttered. "Do you know where they're stationed? Places they frequent?"

"I, I know the address of their hangout," he said shakily. "I had to deliver a message there once."

"Write it down," Kirk ordered, sliding a paper across the table. Ed picked up the pen, trembling, and scrawled it on the sheet. When he was done Kirk took it and folded it up.

"Thank you. Now," he leveled Ed with a steady gaze. "I can't promise that things will be easy for you, but your cooperation will certainly hold sway with a jury." Ed nearly fainted. "According to Gruthar law, you will stand trial for murder and attempted murder."

Ed raised his head in confusion. "Attempted murder? When did I ever…?" he trailed.

Kirk gave him a humorless smile. "Dr. McCoy is still alive," he informed. "He's pulling through in Sickbay."

Ed fell out of his chair. "_Damn_, that man is a tough nut!" he blurted.

Kirk's smile widened. "Yes, he sure is." He walked over to the wall and hit the communications button. "Ready to come out." A moment later the cell door opened and Kirk walked into the jail compound. A Gruthar policeman took his place inside. He met Spock where he was waiting.

"Captain?"

"Got the address of the thugs responsible," Kirk reported, holding up the piece of paper. "Troublesome kids going down a dark path; they joined an anti-Starfleet group called Black Hole."

Spock tilted his head. "Yes. I've read reports about them while I was waiting. A fairly new group, they are highly xenophobic and untrusting. They feel that by disposing of Starfleet members, they are liberating Gruthar from corruptive influence."

"Bones would never hurt anyone; they're the ones corrupting." Kirk sighed. "What about actions against them?"

"The standard police force has been steadily picking up members charged with violence and conspiracy," Spock informed. "Their numbers are small, and support has diminished drastically since catching the group before it could gain any sort of hold on society. The justice system has been handling the situation admirably."

"Well, Spock, if it's working so well, I don't see any reason to impede that." Kirk frowned. "But I want those five brought to justice."

"Agreed, Captain," Spock said. "However, since it is Dr. McCoy who was attacked, should we not ask if that is what he wants?"

Kirk turned sharply and stared at him. "Are you saying he may choose to _not_ press charges?" he hissed. "A crime has been committed; those responsible must be tried!"

Spock shook his head. "I am saying that the doctor may have other ideas, and that we should inform him of the circumstances and listen to what he has to say about it."

Kirk eyed him. "Very well, Mr. Spock," he said. "Let's go talk to Bones."

* * *

"What do ya mean, 'no'?!"

"Jim, they're kids," McCoy said. "Who are getting off to a bad start. They don't need to spend the rest of their lives in prison."

"They joined a conspiracy and tried to kill you, I think they should be held accountable for their actions," Kirk maintained.

"And they will be. At the same time, we can make sure they won't ever do something like it again."

Kirk was about to say something else but stopped. "What?"

McCoy's eyes gleamed with mischief. "I'm being released from Sickbay this evening. You have that address? I suppose we should stop by for a visit."

* * *

The night darkened on Gruthar. In a renovated building, five youths gathered as they did every night. One seemed wide-eyed and jittery. The others looked bored.

"You're overreacting, Pickney," George said, fiddling with a coin.

"It's no time to get cold feet," Travis said.

"But I know what I saw!" he insisted. "He waded through the café looking like Death himself!"

"And just how did he get across town?" Howard demanded.

"Corpses don't walk," Cutler said dryly, interrupting the argument. Everyone quieted and looked at him. He hopped off of the counter he was reclining against and sauntered to the center of the room. "You saw him. The atropine was kicking in and he was bleeding out in an alley. I think you were seeing things, Pick."

"If I was, then I saw a ghost," Pickney said. "And so did everyone else in the café."

There was silence. "A… ghost?" Travis stuttered.

Outside, listening intently, McCoy and Kirk held down a chuckle. Spock merely raised an eyebrow, probably disapproving of the illogic.

"C'mon, Travis, ghosts aren't real," George scoffed. "You're just chicken."

"You and Pickney would rule the henhouse," Cutler observed.

"Well, if it wasn't him, and if it wasn't a ghost, then what did I see?" Pickney demanded.

Cutler shrugged. "A hallucination. Or nothing at all. The guy's deader than a doornail."

Howard shifted. "Yeah… yeah he is."

"What, you too?" Cutler exclaimed. "Guys, come on, it's part of the real world! We had to kill him!"

"But ghosts aren't part of this world," Travis said. "What if he comes back to haunt us?"

"That's my cue," McCoy whispered. Kirk and Spock nodded. The doctor eased himself inside the room and stood in a dark corner.

"He's not going to come back," George said. "You're just paranoid."

"Guys, I think I'd better be getting home," Howard said. "Before it gets much later."

"Fine, oh Howard!" He turned and Cutler grinned. "Watch out for any ghosts!"

Two of them laughed and he climbed the stairs grumbling. Nearing the door that McCoy had just come in through, he passed right by where the doctor was hiding.

McCoy reached out and gripped his shoulder.

"HOLY shit!" Howard screamed, backpedaling away from the shadowed, grinning face. He fell off the stairs and scrambled towards the others.

"What? What is it?"

"Th-there's, he's, he's in the corner!" Howard spluttered.

Cutler pulled out his knife. "Who's there?" he shouted. "Show yourself!"

"What are you going to do with that knife, Cutler?" McCoy said softly from the shadows. "Kill me?" He stepped out into the light. "It'd be a bit hard, considering you already did."

His face paled and eyes grew as wide as saucers. McCoy bit his cheek to keep from laughing. Every boy but Pickney froze, rooted to the spot. Pickney was backing away, pointing and shouting "I told you! I told you! Didn't I tell you! I knew I saw him! Oh, God!"

"Shut up!" McCoy snapped. Pickney paled and swallowed.

McCoy leaned against the railing on the stairs. "You know," he said, taking his time. "There's a problem when you target Starfleet. Most people don't realize it, but that doesn't keep them from trying." He narrowed his eyes. "Trying like you boys."

"What, what do you mean?" Cutler asked bravely.

McCoy straightened and glowered down at them, given a height advantage due to the stairs. "I mean that it's damn foolish to attack Starfleet. Most people only do that if they have a death wish." He stepped down closer, and they all stepped back. "Do you have a death wish?" he rumbled in his throat.

"No!" Several shouted. Cutler looked only indecisive. He gulped and stepped forward, looking up at McCoy and meeting his eyes. "Starfleet's been attacked before. There's nothing foolish about it because killing's worked."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" he said softly. "It didn't work for me." He took another step.

"You see boys, we're duty-bound. And there is a clause in Starfleet that simply states that we are not allowed to die." He let those words sink in, enjoying the confused and fearful looks. Then he grew angry. "And you thought you could simply deprive me of my duty!" he shouted. "Did you think it would be fun to kill someone? Did you decide to commit murder for the heck of it? Well?" He was walking closer with every word, temper boiling. The boys just backed further and further away. They collided against the back wall. McCoy closed the distance between them and shouted. "Do you see how that worked out?!"

"Sonuva…" someone said, breathless.

McCoy whirled and jabbed a finger at Cutler's chest. He jumped at the touch. "You failed! Because you didn't think! You were a fool who targeted those who aren't allowed to die and dragged your friends in it with you!" he spat. He dropped his tone to a low growl. "And may Heaven and Hell help you should you ever try such a stupid, foolish, thing again."

He broke away suddenly. "Idiot," he grumbled. He suddenly flashed a smile and looked at the four others. "As for you," he said sweetly. "Will I have to return to keep you out of trouble?"

Unnerved at the sudden change, they rapidly shook their heads. "No! No! Never again… we promise!"

"Good," he purred. "Keep it that way." He cast one last look at Cutler. His face was slack, but his eyes glittered, and Cutler shrank under their intensity. "I'm watching you."

McCoy swiftly walked back up the stairs and out the door. He didn't shut the door all the way, however, and when the boys started to lose some of their tension he slammed it as hard as he could. Shouts of shock erupted from inside.

The doctor hopped back out on the street and met Kirk and Spock, who had left their positions by the window. He was grinning. "If that doesn't keep them out of trouble then they're bigger idiots than I thought," he said.

"Agreed," Kirk said. He glanced at Spock and looked amusedly at McCoy as they walked down the dark street. "Remind me to never, ever get on your bad side."

McCoy laughed. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"It was…" Spock shifted. "Disconcerting." He mentally realized that he was very lucky to have never been on the receiving end of Dr. McCoy's full temper. "But its effectiveness has yet to be gaged."

McCoy whirled on him and crossed his arms. "Speculation, Spock?" he said firmly, but lightly. "Do you think, that after that, they will continue with Black Hole's conspiracy theory and murder?"

Spock looked back at the building. No one else had exited it. "I wouldn't," he said bluntly. "And I believe, that in the interest of self-preservation, they will also abstain."

McCoy grinned. "See, Jim?" he chatted as they resumed walking. "Revenge can be accomplished without the hassle of the courts. And you wanted to throw those kids in jail." He shook his head.

"Yes, well I see now they would've been getting off easy," Kirk said. "But, a Starfleet clause where you're 'not allowed to die?"

McCoy laughed. "Well, I had to come up with something!"

"Yes," Kirk trailed. He smiled. "You make a good ghost, Bones."

"Thank you," McCoy replied. He started whistling as they strolled along back to the beaming point.

Kirk and Spock glanced at each other with the same, unspoken agreement flashing between their eyes.

Never, _ever_ piss off the CMO.

* * *

**I hope y'all liked it! Thank you for reading! Mwa-ha-ha-ha, I enjoyed writing about McCoy's revenge. I hope this delivered to y'all's expectations. Please review!**


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